Detective Euan Fitzpatrick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lovesguinness) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2013-11-23 09:42 pm
lovesguinness) wrote in muserevival2013-11-23 09:42 pm
Entry tags:
044.1. Muse prompt
"Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it."
- William Arthur Ward.
He had gone all the way home first. He listened to his big brother when he told him to go home to get some sleep so he was sparking for Ciaran the next day when the boy would likely be feeling better and ready to latch onto his daddy for the strength the needed to get well. He went home to their apartment, and started to tidy-up on autopilot. One could liken it to an expectant mother nesting, but Ciaran waking up had been a shock to the system he needed. He had been on the slippery spiral of giving up hope as each day passed with the boy still unconscious. If it hadn’t been for Julie, he probably wouldn’t even be there now. Overdose would have just been the start of it. Julie and his family. He couldn’t have held his head just barely above the water without them hooking their hands under his chin and holding him afloat.
Some of the boy’s clothes were folding and put away in his drawer. Euan stood there, hands resting tiredly on his hips as his eyes swept over the mural the boy had painted on the wall of his bedroom. It had such intricacies for an eleven year old mind. He had been the biggest change in Euan’s life and at first, it had been dizzying. He hadn’t known what to do with a child. At first, he had been so sure he was going to fuck the kid up. The boy was so forgiving, though. He didn’t blame Euan for his stuff-ups, he didn’t judge him. All he wanted was his father there. It was as simple as that. The wee boy was a lifesaver. He was Euan’s life-preserver when it felt like the life he had clawed back from the hell of addiction was barely worth living. He had been fighting the clutches of craving back then. He was struggling living in London where his parents’ lives had been taken so horrifically. He was lost, and the child was his anchor back to a meaningful life that had some value.
He brushed his fingertips over the strokes of the painting and then splayed his hand against the wall. Not many people were lucky to get the second chance he got. It was time to stop bottling everything up and not expressing it. He missed his mum and dad. That wasn’t something he could admit to himself for a very long time. They were amazing people, and the conversation with Corey had really driven that part of his turmoil home. The boy was lucky to have survived that day himself. He moved into his bedroom and crouched down on the floor in front of his chest of drawer, digging though the bottom one right to the back.
Once his hand closed around what he was looking for, he sat down crossed legged and looked at the small antique ringbox cupped in his palm. He should never be in possession of what was inside. Part of him didn’t even want to open the box to see. He swallowed to pluck up some courage to push it open with his thumb and he tilted his head a little to the side to look at the rings inside. The Claddagh Ring. So much Irish folklore cherished in its legend, it spoke the levels of love words often couldn’t. It had barely ever left his mother’s finger.
They should have gone with his mum to her grave, but the day before her trip to London, she had taken them off and dropped them in at their local jewellers in Dublin to be cleaned. The following week would be their fortieth wedding anniversary and she had wanted her wedding rings to be sparkling for the party they planned. The party that was never meant to be. It had been three months in the wake of the death, and everyone was still numb. The jeweller himself, born and bred in their home town, who dropped over to their house one afternoon and Euan had answered the door. The man – Mr O’Gill, a poignant twist considering Euan's favourite movie as a child had been Darby O'Gill and the Little People – had given then box to Euan and told him he should have them. It took Euan another year after that to be able to even open the little bag to see what was inside. When he told Ronan and Mandy about them, they both agreed Euan was the youngest, he should keep them. He hadn’t wanted anything else of their parents’. It had been too hard to hold onto.
His hand closed around the box, clutching it to his chest. He missed them so much, it nauseated him. All the things he wished he had told them before the time was lost. He had gone to their graves, but he had never been able to bring himself to talk to them like they were still there. All he had done was tidy the gravestones and sit on the nearby bench, lost in his own turmoil of thoughts that could never made it to his lips to become words. He had a lot of flaws, a lot of things he probably could change about himself, but was scared of the person he could become without them. One thing he could change, however, was telling the people that meant the most to him what they meant to him before it was too late all over again.
And he knew exactly where he was going to start.
Euan Fitzpatrick (Original Character)
- William Arthur Ward.
He had gone all the way home first. He listened to his big brother when he told him to go home to get some sleep so he was sparking for Ciaran the next day when the boy would likely be feeling better and ready to latch onto his daddy for the strength the needed to get well. He went home to their apartment, and started to tidy-up on autopilot. One could liken it to an expectant mother nesting, but Ciaran waking up had been a shock to the system he needed. He had been on the slippery spiral of giving up hope as each day passed with the boy still unconscious. If it hadn’t been for Julie, he probably wouldn’t even be there now. Overdose would have just been the start of it. Julie and his family. He couldn’t have held his head just barely above the water without them hooking their hands under his chin and holding him afloat.
Some of the boy’s clothes were folding and put away in his drawer. Euan stood there, hands resting tiredly on his hips as his eyes swept over the mural the boy had painted on the wall of his bedroom. It had such intricacies for an eleven year old mind. He had been the biggest change in Euan’s life and at first, it had been dizzying. He hadn’t known what to do with a child. At first, he had been so sure he was going to fuck the kid up. The boy was so forgiving, though. He didn’t blame Euan for his stuff-ups, he didn’t judge him. All he wanted was his father there. It was as simple as that. The wee boy was a lifesaver. He was Euan’s life-preserver when it felt like the life he had clawed back from the hell of addiction was barely worth living. He had been fighting the clutches of craving back then. He was struggling living in London where his parents’ lives had been taken so horrifically. He was lost, and the child was his anchor back to a meaningful life that had some value.
He brushed his fingertips over the strokes of the painting and then splayed his hand against the wall. Not many people were lucky to get the second chance he got. It was time to stop bottling everything up and not expressing it. He missed his mum and dad. That wasn’t something he could admit to himself for a very long time. They were amazing people, and the conversation with Corey had really driven that part of his turmoil home. The boy was lucky to have survived that day himself. He moved into his bedroom and crouched down on the floor in front of his chest of drawer, digging though the bottom one right to the back.
Once his hand closed around what he was looking for, he sat down crossed legged and looked at the small antique ringbox cupped in his palm. He should never be in possession of what was inside. Part of him didn’t even want to open the box to see. He swallowed to pluck up some courage to push it open with his thumb and he tilted his head a little to the side to look at the rings inside. The Claddagh Ring. So much Irish folklore cherished in its legend, it spoke the levels of love words often couldn’t. It had barely ever left his mother’s finger.
They should have gone with his mum to her grave, but the day before her trip to London, she had taken them off and dropped them in at their local jewellers in Dublin to be cleaned. The following week would be their fortieth wedding anniversary and she had wanted her wedding rings to be sparkling for the party they planned. The party that was never meant to be. It had been three months in the wake of the death, and everyone was still numb. The jeweller himself, born and bred in their home town, who dropped over to their house one afternoon and Euan had answered the door. The man – Mr O’Gill, a poignant twist considering Euan's favourite movie as a child had been Darby O'Gill and the Little People – had given then box to Euan and told him he should have them. It took Euan another year after that to be able to even open the little bag to see what was inside. When he told Ronan and Mandy about them, they both agreed Euan was the youngest, he should keep them. He hadn’t wanted anything else of their parents’. It had been too hard to hold onto.
His hand closed around the box, clutching it to his chest. He missed them so much, it nauseated him. All the things he wished he had told them before the time was lost. He had gone to their graves, but he had never been able to bring himself to talk to them like they were still there. All he had done was tidy the gravestones and sit on the nearby bench, lost in his own turmoil of thoughts that could never made it to his lips to become words. He had a lot of flaws, a lot of things he probably could change about himself, but was scared of the person he could become without them. One thing he could change, however, was telling the people that meant the most to him what they meant to him before it was too late all over again.
And he knew exactly where he was going to start.
Euan Fitzpatrick (Original Character)